


Deep Water

by Roo_Bastmoon



Category: X/1999
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:09:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roo_Bastmoon/pseuds/Roo_Bastmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little lesson in humiliation is needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep Water

Seishirou lounges on a park bench, deceptively casual. He watches Yuto stare at the fountain the way an alcoholic would eye a drink. With _longing_.  


“Go ahead,” he murmurs. “There’s practically no one here.”  


A lazy smile from the blond, and suddenly long tendrils of water spiral up and loop intricate patterns in the air. Bright shiny coins briefly clang together before falling back in the fountain.   


Yuto can manipulate the element, but he cannot make those tossed-away wishes come true.   


As abruptly as it began, the water splashes back down into the fountain.  


“Satisfied?” Seishirou asks, lighting up a cigarette.  


“Hardly.” Yuto folds his arms, his expression pleasant and calm, mask perfectly in place.  


“Would you like a smoke?”  


“I would like to suck your cock.”  


Seishirou blinks. _Well. Straight to the matter then._ It seems Yuto enjoys shocking people. A shame, because even when Seishirou is surprised, he never lets it show. And it is impossible to humiliate him.  


“Is that so?” Seishirou inhales, deliberately hollowing his cheeks, before breathing smoke directly above Yuto’s head.  


Yuto's smile is coy.  


Normally, Seishirou has all sorts of rules about mixing business with pleasure. There are very, very few people he’d trust with his cock, and even fewer people he’d let live after the experience. Certainly not this blond whore, dressed in that foppish jacket, wearing that agreeable little smirk.  


Except, he’s bored.   


This is potentially dangerous, and that’s a siren call Seishirou can’t resist.  


“Why?” he asks, flicking away the ash.  


Yuto cocks his head. “I want to see you come.”  


It’s not possible to hide the effect those words have on him—he’s hard. He looks over at Yuto and they stare at each other, neither willing to back down. Yuto seems enamored of his silver eye.  


“Here? In public like this?” He raises an eyebrow.  


Yuto shrugs as if it’s all very obvious and therefore tedious. “You’re the _sakurazukamori_ ; create an illusion.”  


Seishirou narrows his eyes. Yuto’s driving at something, but there’s no way to figure out what it is unless he goes along. Besides, he wonders if the man will chicken out. He stretches out his hand, flattens his palm, and a single black _o-fuda_ slips between his fore and middle finger. He flicks his wrist . . . and suddenly they are on an entirely different plane of existence.  


Yuto drops to his knees in one fluid movement and twists to position himself between Seishirou’s legs. He waits, one eyebrow raised, as Yuto nuzzles his cock through his trousers.   


The blond mouths his prick, kissing and licking it through the expensive material, and Seishirou lets out a little sigh, smoke streaming through his nostrils. He widens his legs and lifts his hips when Yuto pulls his zipper down and yanks his pants back.  


Seishirou watches, smirking, as Yuto’s eyes go wide. _Yes, I am impressive, aren’t I?_  


Yuto strokes him, licks his tip, gets him good and wet. He swallows Seishirou whole and bobs—expertly, Seishirou observes—up and down, up and down. His rhythm is lazy, and at the same time matter-of-fact.   


Seishirou does not like the idea of being just another blowjob to Yuto. He grips the man’s soft hair and holds him still, then pulls him forward, making Yuto take it all the way to the back of his throat.   


The blond stills, holds his breath, but does not squirm or even make a sound in protest. He pets the man’s hair and lets the other Angel work him. Now, Yuto is sure to take him as far as he'll go, every time. Once or twice, he strokes his knuckles down Yuto’s cheek.  


It’s good, but he’s had better.   


As if sensing this thought, Yuto looks up at him and slowly pulls off. He opens his mouth and jerks Seishirou’s dick, letting the very tip occasionally beat against his full lower lip.   


The _look_ he gives Seishirou . . . makes him want to throw Yuto over the bench and fuck him until he dies from it. Literally.   


Yuto can tell this—if that little half-smile is any indication, he’s been having similar thoughts. But he just jerks faster, finally letting Seishirou come on his face. He gives Seishirou the _most_ annoyingly _triumphant_ smile, as if he’s won some sort of battle between them.  


He rakes his nails over Yuto’s scalp, yanks that head back, and licks a little bit of his own spending off of Yuto’s cheek. Then he stands, zips up his pants, and snaps his fingers.   


The illusion breaks. The illusion of privacy, that is.  


Yuto is left sitting there on his knees, come all over his face, humiliated—a crowd gathered round them, everyone having seen the entire performance.   


Seishirou smiles. _I’m better at this game. You aren’t cruel enough._ Tossing his jacket over his shoulder, he walks away, still deceptively casual.  



End file.
